The Joker and the Kid
by KayosHybrid
Summary: During a screw-up in his recruiting campaign, The Joker gets stuck with an accidental young hostage of sorts. It had been a long time since he'd encountered...'children'. Rated T for good measure.
1. Prologue: A Small Development

_This is not my first fic but the first one submitted, probably because it's more generally comedic and swift to write up. Of course was blown away by TDK and was epicinspired. This is one of many TDK fics I am writing, and this more explores the fact there was never any children in The Dark Knight except for Commish'ner Gordon's kids, not any that Joker encountered anyway. I'm going to try my damned hardest not to have a generic mary-sue-child-vaguely/somehow-similar-to-me-but-unrealistically-cooler/crappier character. Mostly just for fun, please rate and review!  
_

_**Prologue : A Small Development  
**_

The Joker peered at the child sitting 8 feet in front of him on a wooden chair. The child was male. His name had not been asked, nor had he offered it yet. He was approximately 9 years old. He had dark, quite thick hair, childish freckles dotted on the apex of his cheeks, eyes vibrant grey-blue. His clothes had some colourful character on it, probably originating from a cartoon.

The Joker had obtained this child whilst making his way back to his current location. His graceful retreat had gone haywire and transformed into a precisely erratic flee through the dark contours of Gotham, whilst he had gone hun-….recruiting for henchmen to his radical, necessary cause.

Now normally Joker would have gone shopping at length in Arkham among his fellow loons, handpicking inmates that had the right qualities and manipulated them piece by piece, when he was first sent there when prison just couldn't handle him. He had been quite adept at creating weaponry out of the blandest material in prison, and lacked the pain recoil when bending or breaking something tough to shape the desired tool – slangtermed 'shanks' as he recalled. In prison he could hire thugs and tap into unchecked psychotics, whilst he himself was slowly being noticed as abnormal, and not quite prison fodder. So once he had slipped security and ran gleefully into the crevices of Gotham to bide, he had a large gathering of followers at the ready.

Spending several months in Arkham had proved too much, and his energies consolidated to escape, which, of course, was utterly successful. But now that he had skipped back into Gotham scot-free, he needed more cattle – people with enough stomach, idiocy and dependence to carry out his whims. And since Arkham and Blackgate had been out of question, he had the task of visiting mental hospitals looking for psychotics that hadn't yet manifested their urges or energies, or even miniature prisons fishing for new adults who hadn't any dreams. The Joker could manifest energy. He could shape dreams.

But there had been a glitch in his timing, caused by the collaboration of horrendous traffic (probably caused by a severe crash he had delightfully made along a main road earlier and forgotten about) and a police officer glancing at his van's one-sided windows. Minutes later and he had sirens seizing the air, tires screeching behind him as he made his vehicles dash – right into an armoured police truck. The collision fortunately killed the driver, making enough delay for the Joker to leap out of his destroyed vehicle and disappear down multiple alleyways. He even climbed fire escapes, infiltrated people's homes (killing along the way for good measure) to put extra distance. Unfortunately the last apartment had heard the choked off screams and muffled gunshots, and by the time he had smashed through the window, a fatherly man was on the phone urging the Fuzz to hurry. Crashing past furniture, the Joker deftly sliced open his neck, shoved him in a closet and kicked the phone across the room.

Damp with sweat under his heavy garb, panting and covered in broken glass, the Joker could only slap his forehead in annoyance when he heard sirens already making their way to his location. About to leg it, a certain small boy stepped into the kitchen and caught his eye. Too preoccupied to kill him and not lax enough to leave the witness, he grabbed the kid like a sack of potato's, grabbing handfuls of keys from the hooks by the door, and scurried into the garage. After stabbing multiple keys at the lock of their charming car (leaving silver gashes all over the red finish), the child practically pointed out the correct one, was bundled inside, and the vehicle crashed right through the wooden entrance. To the Joker's relief, he was off down many streets without meeting a single policecar.

The boy was sat across from him quietly.

He had a child in his hideout – and he didn't know what to do with it.

--

_YES, a small chapter, but a longer one__ is following after. :3_


	2. A Huge Pain in the Ass

_Chapter two of my drabble! I'm not sure about this chapter to be honest, it's hard to get the right sense of character yet make it ridiculous enough to be funny. But it's not supposed to be my best work, so I'ma continue this story anyway. No idea where I'm headed though! Suggestions are WELCOME, it'd be hilarious to find out what you guys might anticipate. As always, please read and review!_

**A Huge Pain in the Ass  
**

The Joker was perched on the edge of a battered wooden coffee table, lanky legs bent out in front of him, the soles of his shoes firmly on the floor beneath. His arms hung low, elbows on his legs, gloved fingers pressed together. His expression was….interesting, he gathered, since some of the few cronies that littered his joint who had wandered in… quickly wandered out.

Clumsily connecting thousands of precise strands of information for an elaborate scheme was relatively easy compared to this – at least he knew the general outcome; explosions, the police, severe public unrest, Gotham's criminals on edge and Batface swooping in uninvited. He had a lot of experience in that kind of thing, he had the ability to predict the many ways in which things could unfold – most of which were appealing.

But with children, he wasn't so sure. You could tell when a bomb was going to go off – a timer let you know. Children didn't have timers on when they'd throw tantrums, demand ice-cream or grow bored. And they're undeveloped minds couldn't tell when they were going to either, so they just _got_ somewhere and proceeded to let you know about it.

He could have just killed him. Simple enough. Remove the annoyance that would probably just drive him bananas. And the Joker was never one to shy away from a taboo. But that'd be like killing a rare specimen – and at least losing a valuable hostage if he needed one. No cop would dare try anything if he had an infant.

But how do you keep a child hostage? Tie them to a chair and gag their mouths? He almost did just so, but the boy had stopped kicking and screaming ever since he arrived.

He looked at the child and all he saw was a simple, rather useless, creature. Not emotionally or physically mature, had no practical skills, nor strength or agility. He did not see a victim, a plaything or another ignorant person living their lives in a grey box like sheep. This boy was so undeveloped in the matters of the world that it probably wouldn't absorb much that was inflicted on it.

It only knew simple fears and joys, though it was very compatible with any new lessons. Instead of straining against the emotional pressure that is what Joker could inflict through presence, psychological probing and his 'games', the boy would probably not get very stressed. Just….shocked at all the new information that isn't making sense; things were happening that had never been experienced, but were distressing nonetheless. Their simple logic just wouldn't have room to fit anything too complex.

Pretty damn useless, see. If you were going to have a worthwhile victim, they were going to leave you either scarred, traumatised and shaken, or dead. Children hadn't lived long enough to understand what was happening.

Though it…uh…._he _did serve some sort of basic purpose. As offspring, any adult would think highly of his life, so that would be strategically useful. If he remained innocent to the goings on around him, he'd learn some interesting things whilst unbeknownst of being used as a pawn. A Get Out of Jail Free card, if you will. Though, Joker had always had plenty of _them_ up his sleeve.

It was simple as that.

So what now? Just leave him in a room until he was needed?

"Hello mister." Came a sudden greeting from the young …thing. The Joker smirked slightly, glad the first bit of speech hadn't been a demand.

"Hi….little boy." How do you _speak_ to a kid?

"I'm John. My friends call me Johnny." Practical mind though.

"I am the Joker." He grinned broadly, redsmeared cheeks tugging upwards in a broad, devious smile. Of course he offered no….nickname, though there was an expectant look in… 'John's' eyes. The Joker didn't satisfy him with anything else.

"Why are you dressed up as a clown?" Simple questions, maybe they just required simple answers. But there was some fun to be had!

"Does it _scare_ you?" The Joker probed in return, leaning forward a little from his perch to scrutinize the boy. 'John' didn't even blink. But this was getting easy, he could do this…

"Nope. Clowns are supposed to be funny, aren't they? You don't look very funny." John concluded, crossing his arms in a blatant, honest show of not being all that impressed. The Joker twitched.

Now what? He had a pet peeve about not being called funny. It really depended on perspective, and Joker had his special, satirical kind of comedy. And he had a hunch that giggling in delight at the child's boldness wouldn't gain him any fear points. Someone please damn these children to some unending pit somewhere.

The Joker flexed his hands to work out the stiffness, concentrating on the therapeutic creak of the leather, trying a new tactic. But before he could speak, John took the silence as an opportunity to open his mouth again.

"I'm bored," Joker was about to retort, but he frustratingly continued. "Do you know how to make animal balloons?" There was a half hopeful, half challenging look on John's stupid little face. "I like _giraffes_." He prompted smugly as the Joker remained lost for a reply.

Wait, WHAT? The Joker had leant away by now, already wanting to beat some maturity into John, but doubting he would get any satisfaction. He was 9 fucking years old, what was he, broken?! Wait, no, kids were kind of….early productions of people, he didn't break…right? If he did, the Joker wanted to know how exactly they do so he could get right on it.

John was talking again. "I'm hungry." He whinged. The Joker was astounded at his bravery. "Have you got any candy, Joey? What have you got? I like fries and cake. Not together though. Separate, but I guess they can touch, even though fries and cake shouldn't be on the same plate. But I don't like my vegetables touching my potatoes."

The Joker was almost tugging out his greasy locks from the roots. What kind of unintelligible babble was this?! JOEY?! The Joker shot to his feet, hands curling into fists, overwhelmed with the need to knock the stupid out of this damn brat. He was THE. JOKER. Not….Joey?! No he didn't have any goddamn fries and any goddamn cake, and he didn't give a rats ass about how 'John' liked his food on his plate. Maybe the Joker should take up cannibalism, and explain to John how he likes his childlimbs arranged on _his_ plate as he eats. Maybe roast John on a spit and serve him up on a big dish with an apple in his mouth to shut him up.

His blissful daydreaming was cut short from a satisfied exclamation from the spawn sitting in front of him, who hadn't glanced once at the menacing, purple-glad man on the verge of throttling him. He was retrieving a colourful wrapper from his pocket, and stuffing a stick of gum in his mouth. Seeing the Joker staring at him, he made a confused, indignant expression. "What?"

Just as he was considering offering John some variable of sticky tar to pass up as toffee (in hopes of cementing his jaw together, maybe even asphyxiating him in the process) or maybe even gunpowder as some sort of crackling candy, a brave veteran goon stepped nervously inside. "Um, Jo-"

"_WHAT_?" The Joker shrieked, glaring at the henchman wildly, which earned a flinch in response. That calmed him just a bit. A bit.

"GCN is reporting your escape," The goon managed out, pointing weakly over his shoulder. "O-on TV. Says they've got helicopters and everything a-all over the city lookin' for you."

Despite his frustration, the Joker straightened up and smoothed himself down, very much looking forward to it. "…Good. Good, see to it that_ this_…" He made a wild gesture with his arms to try and explain abomination in front of him. "THIS…doesn't escape!"

"S-sure thing." The goon affirmed quickly, weirded out by the boss's reaction as he strode, shoulders hunched furiously, out of the room to go and relax to the reports of his escape. To think about the public's shock and anxiety, to watch the police lie through their teeth at live statements to assure the masses. His muscles began to loosen, only springing tight with a sense of excitement, he'd wring his hands around John's feeble little neck later…

"Awesome, my DS lite! And Super Mario Bros!"

…this had better be a EXTENSIVE news report.

--

_Thanks to those who reviewed the first chapter, I hope this one is better. :3_


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